


James bond homework thing (Modified /adapted)

by AbbieMaeH



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, Multi, bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbieMaeH/pseuds/AbbieMaeH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Science homework thing</p>
            </blockquote>





	James bond homework thing (Modified /adapted)

A crowded airport is the worst place in the world to try and pass through in a hurry.  
If you're a spy, international or otherwise, a crowded airport is one of the best places in the world to lose someone. Mind you, this doesn't work if the someone you're trying to lose doesn't care about being seen or hurting innocent bystanders; this only works for times when the one after you is as eager to go unnoticed as you are. However, if your pursuers would rather break a finger than be noticed (or break one of yours, given the way these things often go), then the crowded airport is your best friend.  
James Bond, latest in a long and noble line of fine 00 agents for HMSS, was in a crowded airport in Germany in the middle of the night under stars (Infra red)(Gamma), deep undercover, and having an extraordinarily crappy day ; leaving him very irritable, unarmed, limping slightly, unshaven, and frightfully rumpled with broken ear piece(Microwaves) and phone(Microwaves) that has a bullet hole through the middle of it. Of these things, only the rumpled looked bad on him and, honestly, it had a certain appeal, as well, to the right onlooker. The limp was the kind that made women want to help him and men wonder what he'd done to get a good solid kick in the balls like that. Men all know that limp; it's really universal.  
A brilliantly clever, moderately psychopathic, and definitely pissed double agent was walking through the airport, shoulder to shoulder with Bond like an old chum. Tucked in the hand wedged between them under the guise of holding his duffel bag steady, the man had a ceramic pistol held against Bond's side. Needless to say, he and Bond were definitely not chums. Bond had been tracking the double agent for weeks and had finally identified him the day before in an elaborately-arranged meeting that had gone stunningly pear-shaped. For both of them. His name, as much as anyone in the spy business actually had a name, was Sebastian Moran; it was the most recent of four that Bond, himself, knew the man to have used. Good enough for now. Two security guards walked past banging there radios (Radio wave) and pagers (Radio wave) oblivious to the situation unfolding , Bond knew some one was blocking the signals or he would of got a message over his ear piece by now. The airports flood lights (Visible Light) started to flicker as birds came to the roof to rest passing by the sensors.  
Despite knowing that the bullets in the little ceramic gun were the sort that would zip around in his body cavity like a trackless roller-coaster of shreddy fun, Bond would have been willing to take the hit for his country and try to eliminate the double agent; generally speaking, that was part of his job. However, in the duffel bag snugly pressed between them along with the gun and its alarming bullets was an even more alarming bomb. Bond didn't know exactly how the bomb was rigged to go off yet, nor how big an explosion it was capable of making, so he had to play along and hope his usually quite good luck would return and he could find a way to fix the situation before he and a lot of other people got rather spectacularly dead. This, too, was part of his job.  
Bond was really eagerly looking forward to a long vacation someplace quiet and empty. He'd been having a very interesting working environment of late. Yes, THAT kind of interesting. It was time for peace, quiet and drinks. Once again, there's always that statistical probability that even the most skilled fighter can misstep on some stray item strewn in his path. How much more embarrassing to have one's opponent misstep and, in so doing, land a lucky shot. Really. It was so unbelievable that it simply had to happen to James Bond at least once in his career. Hopefully, he thought, that would mean he'd had his turn and it would never happen again. Hope is a nice thing.  
Clumps of anonymous travelers, and the occasional bevy of obvious tourists passed by and around Bond and Sebastian as they drew closer to the entrance/exit of the airport. Once they were outside, Bond's chances would begin to narrow rapidly; he was quite sure sebastian would take him to the first available empty alley or nook of some kind and make quick work of him with that airport-bag scanner (x-ray)(Gamma) and body scanner (x-ray) defeating little gun of his. This close to the exit, he might yet make it to freedom even if Bond tried something here; not to mention that little matter of the bomb. He started calculating how many people were around, hoping, still hoping, for an opportunity.  
Another herd of tourists were entering the airport, colorful outfits, children amused by glowing toys(Visible light) and cameras ( Infra red)proclaiming their status as loudly as their t-shirts touting famous landmarks and their bulging luggage. One of them, a young woman in beige cargo shorts, a black polo shirt and brown leather boots, Tanned (UV) with her dark blonde hair caught up in a rather messy pony-tail, looked at Bond and blushed, grinning flirtily. Bond had flashed an automatic grin by habit before taking a closer look at the woman. She looked vaguely familiar and he wondered if he'd encountered her somewhere else in the city, he'd been here long enough and had been to a number of the 'sights', after all.  
Seeing him looking back at her, her dark blue eyes boldly roved down his body, glancingly at his companion, and away again; a crooked little quirk of an almost-smile crossed her lips as her already sunburnt cheeks turned a little pinker. In her distraction, she tripped on one of her bags and spun around, flailing her arms wildly, trying to get her balance as she stumbled toward Bond and Sebastian knocking over a stand with small bug lights (UV) and Portable heaters (Infra red) on. Sebastian stiffened and tried to guide them both out of the way, while Bond hesitated just an instant, for no reason he could consciously determine in that flash of time. With a wailing squeak of dismay the woman corrected with another sway, dropping one of her bags right in front of Sebastian's feet even as she fell heavily into the almost non-existent gap between him and Bond.  
"Oh, hell!" The woman cried as she tried to break her fall on the first thing handy—Sebastian. Gripping a handful of Sebastian's jacket sleeve—and, in the process, his duffel bag—dragging the bag down and his arm outward revealing the pistol , she grunted as she came to a halt on one knee. Bond didn't hesitate to step around the woman on her way down and snatch Sebastians's wrist, savagely twisting it as he ripped the gun from it with his other hand. Sebastian yanked on the duffel, almost throwing the woman the rest of the way to the floor, but she held on tightly. "Sorry, sorry! Gimme a minute to get my feet under me. Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay, Mister?"  
Sebastian cursed the woman in harsh vicious German and tried to throw her off himself and his bag. Bond stepped forward, planning to get the clumsy woman out of the way so he could make a swift escape.  
"Oh, crap, you don't speak English!" The woman exclaimed loudly, getting to her feet, patting Sebastians's arm even as she used it to balance herself. "Ich ben...oh, hell, I'm so sorry!" She made a vague stab at German and then just returned to even louder English. "I'm sorry!"


End file.
